This story now has a part two, containing a few unused scenes and the epilogue that I've had in mind all along. However, there is one thing I want to emphasise: don't read it if you're satisfied with this ending. Part two changes the mood, introduces a few new concepts, and is in general...not the same tone. I didn't put these scenes into the original fic for a reason, let's put it that way. I also don't recommend reading part two immediately after finishing the main fic...but it's up to you, of course. Do as you wish. :)

Sorey was deeply engrossed in the novel Mikleo had written—and dedicated to him!—when a sheet of paper landed atop the book. Momentarily startled, he glanced up and saw nothing. Looking back down, at the paper this time, he found himself smiling goofily. That was Mikleo's handwriting!

How are you feeling this morning?

He hesitated, smile weakening as it slipped from his lips. "...fine. I mean, I wish I could see you, but you're here and that's what matters."

And the dream last night? What was that about?

Sorey visibly flinched, unable to hide the action. "It's, uh, well..." Silence. Mikleo was waiting on him. "I don't really remember that well?" He didn't want to lie to Mikleo, but dragging that up now...

You're the worst liar I've ever met, Sorey.

He chuckled dryly. "Sorry, Mikleo, I just...it was Gramps," he admitted quietly. He could not see Mikleo, but he could imagine his friend's distress at that admission. "We...we killed him, Mikleo, we-"

The paper was snatched, and Sorey watched as a pen, held by an invisible hand, scribbled across the page.

That was not our fault, Sorey! Not mine, or yours. It was Heldalf's.

"...you saw him too," he said softly. "And whoever...was really at fault, he's dead, and our actions had a part in that." Looking down, he grasped the fabric of his pants with tense fingers. "It was...I know it was a long time ago for you, Mikleo," and his friend had therefore had a long time to come to terms with it, and to mourn, "but it was just a few days ago to me. I remember it so clearly..." Gramps' face in Heldalf's palm, twisted into an expression of pure agony.

You're right, Mikleo wrote after a short wait, it...took me a long time, too. Whatever happens, and whatever you need, I'm here for you, Sorey.

"Thanks, Mikleo," he said softly, ashamed of the way his voice broke. "It's...hard to realise how many people are gone. Rose, Alisha, Sergei, all the humans we helped and talked to and shopped from and stayed with-" His voice broke further, and he found himself wiping his eyes. "I know...I...had to do it," he muttered, "but I lost everything because I did.

"Even you. And everyone else. Mikleo, I'm lonely," he choked out. Now that he had started talking, he found it difficult to stop. "I need to be strong. I...I'm famous now. I should be happy. The world we wanted is a reality. Humans and seraphim can see one another, talk to one another, we can travel without fighting hellions all day. Mikleo, it's all good, so why can't I be happy about it?"

It felt like an eternity, waiting for Mikleo to reply, but eventually he did, You have every right to enjoy the world you built, but you can still mourn. A lot has happened, and it's a lot to take in. No matter what, I'll be here.

"Thank you, Mikleo," he replied hoarsely. "Thank you." Reaching up, he wiped at the tears leaking down his face, but more simply replaced them. Despite knowing that Mikleo would never leave him, it helped to hear it from the seraph himself, the words a comfort in his grief.

Eventually, he gave up on trying to resist the tears. It was only Mikleo to see, anyway, so he set the book aside and let himself grieve. He had cried often since awakening, alone in his despair, but those had always been for himself. This time, he cried for all those he had truly lost.

Everything looked...different. He didn't understand how he knew it was different, because he didn't know anything else, but it was.

The room was dark, damp, cool. He didn't know what it was, but he needed to get out. This wasn't right, and neither was that...smell.

A blow struck him, making him snarl in rage. With a swipe of one talon, he destroyed the beasts attacking him. Turning at a noise behind him, he saw...light. So different. So pure. He wanted to protect it. Keep it with him. With a gentle touch, he lifted it from the pit it was in and brought it close.

It spoke, its voice a soft hum to his ears. He returned the words with a low rumble deep in his throat. That seemed to please the light, who spoke more, prompting him to hum back.

Eventually, they tired of the exchanged, and he picked up the light, before heading straight up and blasting a hole in the ceiling. Together, they broke free and soared east, his wings taking them wherever the light wished. So long as he had the light...he would be happy.

He would keep the light safe.

One morning, many seasons later, the light was gone. He could not explain where it had gone, or why he felt the deep-seated grief he did at its loss, but there it was. He sought its source, the aged body of a human. Was it those fingers that had touched him so gently? Rubbed his scales clean, scratched the places he could not reach, tended his wounds...

The grief went deep, roiling in his very core. Shaking his head, he felt the spines along his jaw line stand up as he threw back his head and roared his grief at the heavens. Spreading his wings, he reared back on his hind legs, baying his sorrows over and over again.

He dropped back to all fours, wings snapping back against his side. Now silent, he slunk over to the body, curling around it almost protectively. He did not understand, but this one human had to be the source of the light...the light that had kept the red mist at bay. The grief that he felt at his death was...incomprehensible.

He lay like that for hours, protecting the body where once he had protected the living light itself. Eventually, he roused. His depression fading behind a drive to do something. Snatching the body in one talon, he launched himself into the sky, flapping frantically as he flew north.

The land rolled by, verdant fields eventually giving way to roiling waters. He did not even slow as the land disappeared and the ocean took over, its endless expanse dwarfing even his own gargantuan size. Never before had he felt so small.

For over a day he flew, not even feeling the exhaustion in his strained wings. He knew what he had to do—though he did not know how he knew—and nothing would stop him until he had done so.

He hit land once more, though instead of green hills, brown tundra passed by beneath him for many miles, until, eventually, the land rose up to meet him. He rose higher, clearing the peaks with ease. As he went higher still, the air chilled, and snow began to top the mountains.

It was many leagues in that he finally pulled up, landing atop the tallest mountain he could find. Flapping his stiff, cold wings, he roamed the cliff face, seeking purchase in the icy stone. Finding a crack in the stone, he dug his claws in and tore. The rock broke away, and he continued, using his icy breath and talons to rip open the mountain.

He enlarged the crack until it was large enough to hold the body. Once complete, he gently pressed the man inside, using one talon and his snout. With his muzzle pressed to the chest, he slowly breathed out through flared nostrils, icy-cold mist escaping him.

It froze, filling the crack in perfect, unblemished ice, clear as the finest glass. Gradually, he withdrew as the crack filled, the ice holding the body in place...and preserving it, along with a touch of magic he no longer entirely understood.

When he was done, he sat back, violet eyes taking in his work. The body before him looked...peaceful, as though he were only sleeping. One final time, he roared his agony to the sky, then silently lay down before the tomb, eyes drifting shut.

When he awoke, he barely spared his handiwork a glance. The red mist had sunk down further in his vision, and he allowed it. Spreading his wings, he launched into the sky and soared away.

The last of his instincts brought him to a village. Modelled after those of humans, it was instead inhabited by seraphim. He swooped in, landing on a rush of wind and cries of alarm.

His head swivelled side to side, massive eyes taking in the scene as alarmed seraphim darted about. For a moment, the last spark of himself that burned within flared to life, and for an instant, he felt peace. Then it fizzled out, a thick, red fog settled over his mind...and he knew no more.

In a blind fury, he attacked.

The village lay empty, save for the massive dragon presiding over it. As his grandfather had before him, he shouldered the burden of being Elysia's guardian; as his mother before him, he shouldered the burden of protector of the road to Camlann. To that end, he had come full circle, fulfilling the roles of his predecessors.

Mikleo ruled Elysia, now.

/Epilogue\

"You can't be serious. Luz, you're just a human! Those mountains..."

Luzlo rolled his eyes, sitting back in his chair and propping his feet up on the chair next to him. "I've explored all there is to see around here. Glenwood doesn't have any new surprises."

His companion, and long time best friend, rolled her eyes right back at him. "You're not even thirty yet. There's plenty left to see. You can complain when you're three hundred and still on Glenwood."

"Just a reminder, Lirah, but I'm a human. We can't all be six hundred years old."

She sniffed, tossing her pale, green hair over one shoulder. "I'm barely over five. And that's not the point. Those mountains aren't safe for a single human travelling alone. Besides, how will you even afford it?"

"You're the one who's always saying how much easier things are with modern technology. I just hop on one of those fast boats and head north."

"That doesn't get you up a mountain. Alone. Without magic. You could freeze to death, or fall, or..."

"So come with me."

"You know I have work—we can't all be freeloading spelunkers, you know." Despite the harshness of her words, there was a teasing twinkle to her green eyes that took the sting out of them.

"Fine," he shrugged, "I'll adventure all by myself, I guess..."

"Luz..."

"Look, I know you're worried," he said seriously, tugging at a strand of his own, platinum blond hair, violet eyes unable to meet hers, "but there's something—I can't explain it, but I need to go there. I've always wanted to see the mountains, and now just feels like the right time. I promise, after I get home, I'll settle down. Get a decent job. But right now..."

She sighed, her worry and frustration evident on her youthful face. "Fine, fine. Just...promise me you'll come home. You humans are so...squishy."

He snorted wryly. "Fine, fine. And you try not to break your back, old lady."

"I told you, I'm not even six hundred—"

"Right, right. So you only just missed living through the last Age of Chaos."

"I don't even remember a time when humans and Seraphim couldn't communicate."

"Right, okay. Fine. Look, I should go; I don't want to miss my boat. I'll see you when I get back, okay?" he said, standing and shouldering his bag. It was a convenient travel pack that carried his food and bedding, as well as his normal climbing kit. Heavy, but effective.

She stood too, tugging him into a hug. "I'll see you when you get home."

"You better be here when I get back. You wind seraphim and your wandering..."

She pulled back, smiling at him. "I can wait a few months, even a year if I have to."

"Good. I'll see you then." Fully disengaging from the hug, he turned away and left the tavern, heading for the docks.

The mountains were everything he had ever dreamt of. They towered around him, craggy rock faces, and sheer cliff sides that dropped into hidden gullies. The air was cold and thin, but unimaginably fresh. Snow capped the highest peaks, resting well above the tree line.

With nothing to cut the wind, Luzlo shivered as it gusted passed him, ruffling the fur lining his hood and tugging at his scarf. Someone had advised that he bring goggles for this trip, and he found himself glad he had done so as the biting wind would be stinging his eyes to tears.

Pausing, he surveyed the land as he rubbed his hands to warm them. The sun was just going down, and he had learned very early on not to carry on in the dark. Before dusk was the time to make camp, and not a minute later.

A sheltered alcove caught his eye a short ways up the mountain. Adjusting his pack on his back, he gripped his ice pick and set off for it. It would be a bit of a tricky climb, but he should be able to make it—

The rock crumbled, and he lost his balance. Letting out a cry of alarm, Luzro saw his meagre twenty-eight years pass before his eyes as he slid back, footing going next, and then he was really falling.

In a blur of fiery red, a hand darted out and caught his wrist, stabilising him at the last possible moment. Eyes wide, he breathed heavily as his gaze met that of his rescuer. Beautiful green eyes stared down at him, a concerned smile wrinkling the man's—seraph's, for that was certainly what he was—brow.

"That was close, huh?"

"Yeah, uh...thanks," Luzlo said sheepishly, righting himself and then sinking to his butt on the cold ground, when his legs proved too shaky to support him. Letting out a tense breath, he closed his eyes and willed his thundering heart to still. When he finally reopened them, it was to the stranger's inquisitive gaze.

"Thank you...?"

"You're welcome!" the seraph said in a refreshingly cheery manner. Though he didn't offer up a name, Luzlo noted. Well, who was he to ask?

"My name is Luzlo," he said, offering up his hand for a proper shake.

"Nice to meet you, Luzlo! What's a human doing up here?"

He shrugged. "I like exploring. What about you? I can see a wind seraph up here, but a fire seraph?—you are a fire seraph...?"

His new friend shrugged, scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck. "I am a fire seraph, but, uh, well, funny thing there...I actually have no idea why I'm here. I just sorta woke up in the mountains. I wandered around for a bit, then I stumbled across you. Pretty lucky for you, I guess."

Luzlo's brows raised. "Wait...a seraph with no memory...? Maybe you were a human who was climbing up here and died, then was reborn as a seraph! That happens sometimes. Come on, can you show me where you woke up?" he asked, not bothering to hide his enthusiasm. He'd heard of the process, but never experienced it in any way, not even vicariously. "We might even find a hint as to your identity."

"I...guess that's possible," the seraph said, his uncertainty bleeding into his words. Of course. Luzlo realised he had been a touch callous, and blushed faintly.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to sound...excited about your possible death. We don't have to investigate if you don't want to."

"No, I think it's a good idea. It's just...it's a real possibility, I guess. It's a lot to take in."

"Well, we can wait until morning. It'll be dark soon, and travelling after dark..."

The stranger chuckled, toying with a lock of burnt auburn hair. "I mean, I am a fire seraph, but I can see why it would be nerve-wracking for a little human..."

"H-hey! I'm not afraid, I just..."

"Already almost died once today? It's fine. Let's camp."

Luzlo dropped it. He could be overly competitive, he knew that, and this was definitely a time to rein that in and act like the mature adult he was supposed to be.

"I was heading up there," he gestured, "looked like a good spot."

"Looks good to me, too. Race you up there."

Oh, it was on.

They made camp that night, sheltered snuggly into the alcove. For the first time in several nights, Luzlo enjoyed the comfort of a fire, magically conjured by his new friend. Lack of wood was no issue for a being of fire.

They chatted until Luzlo dozed off, and the following morning it was back to work scaling the mountain. It took longer than normal, with them needing to share Luzlo's climbing supplies, but the seraph proved efficient at finding his own way, also.

It took them the better part of the day to climb to a point where the seraph stopped them. Looking around, he finally stopped, then nodded. "This is it. That..."

Luzlo looked around. As far as mountains went, it didn't look much different than anywhere else, if a tad higher than most of the other peaks. Craggy rock face, bald stone, patches of ice and snow... The only thing off about it was several patches of long, thin gauges. They were weathered and packed with ice, but they looked like the claws of a massive beast.

Why did they turn his stomach?

"...this was a dragon," the seraph said slowly. "I know it was. I recognise those markings."

"It's old, though." The edges had smoothed, never mind being filled with ice.

"So probably not related to me."

"Unlikely, it's been nearly two hundred years since a dragon was spotted. Before that, it was four."

"Definitely not, then." He looked around. "I don't see anything else, though. I knew it was a long shot, anyway. I looked around when I woke up, but didn't find anything."

Luzlo shrugged. "Guess not—it's weird, though. How do you know what dragon markings look like? There weren't dragons in my great-grandparents' time, never mind the past few days..."

His new friend paused, clearly considering, then shrugged. "Maybe I studied dragons?"

"That...would be pretty cool, actually," Luzlo said slowly, voice gradually picking up energy. "There are a lot of rumours about who the last dragon was. The most pervasive even claim it was Mikleo, one of The Shepherd's companions. It's doubtful, obviously, but there's no denying that he hasn't been seen in centuries. Records say he was never one for the public eye, but he'd make occasional visits to the Lady of Ladylake, but about two hundred years ago, he vanished completely.

"Now, it's more likely...something else unfortunate happened to him, but a dragon? Impossible..." Luzlo trailed off, gaze shifting to where the seraph was staring vacantly into the distance. "But...I guess we have no real proof either way," he ventured more carefully. "This may be a sign of that last dragon. Maybe you were tracking it? You could be a dragon hunter! Or even a historian tracking the last dragon..."

Slowly, the seraph turned back. "Yeah...yeah, maybe. I bet we could use that to figure out what I was doing up here..."

"And who you are?" Luzlo ventured.

"...maybe. But honestly, I don't know if I want to do that. If I was up here alone, then there was probably a reason. I just...want to be who I am now. The past doesn't matter."

Luzlo stared at him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. He didn't understand, but his friend looked confused and uncertain, so he let it go for now.

"Did you...wanna come home with me?"

"I would, if it won't impose..."

"Not at all. I've been gone long enough."

"...thank you, Luzlo. It means a lot."

He returned the glamorous smile, trying to ignore the sudden increase in his heartrate. "Don't mention it—by the way, what should I call you?"

"...hm. I think...Sorey sounds right."

"Sorey? Like after The Shepherd?" It was a popular name. "Okay, Sorey. Let's go."

"To adventure!" Sorey yelled, prompting Luzlo to laugh.

"To adventure."

Zaveid emerged from behind a stone outcropping as the two old friends headed back down the mountain and vanished from sight. Turning to the large crack in the mountainside, one that had once been a tomb, but now lay empty, he chuckled wryly.

He had been watching the location for over a hundred years, ever since he had chanced upon it on a random flight through the mountains. Sorey's body, perfectly preserved in magic and ice, protected from time and the elements? Only one being could have done that. He had lain a spell of his own over the tomb, one to tell him if it was ever disturbed, and now...it had been.

For it seemed Maotelus had seen fit to grant the duo a second chance.

"You two better do it right this time," he muttered into the unhearing winds. With one last glance, he let the wind pick him up and rode it away, back to Edna, Lailah, and a new beginning.